


Requiem

by pollitt



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Episode: s03e17 Sunday, M/M, Post Sunday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-01
Updated: 2007-06-01
Packaged: 2017-10-29 04:05:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/315612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pollitt/pseuds/pollitt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i> dona eis requiem.</i> (Grant them rest.) from "Pie Jesu"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Requiem

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers through Season 3 episode "Sunday."
> 
> Thank you to for helping nurse this from the first signs of a plot through the last typos and corrections and making sure extra limbs didn't suddenly appear and clothes weren't put on twice.

Just when Rodney thought the universe was done having its fun with them, at least for the time being, someone trips and they almost drop Carson's casket.

The first steps through the event horizon--a dizzying, disorienting thing on the best of days--are made all the more so when they reached the other side, stepping onto the ramp at the SGC, Carson's casket feeling heavier somehow when back in Earth's gravitational pull. Ronon and Radek bring up the rear and Rodney can hear the _whoosh_ of the wormhole disengaging when there's a shift in the weight distribution of the casket and for a moment, a heart-in-the-throat moment, the six of them--himself, John, Lorne, Lt. Mahan, Radek and Ronon--stumble. Before their feet can give out under them, under the weight of the coffin, they recover.

"Nice catch, gentlemen, Lt. Mahan," General Landry says from where he's waiting at the bottom of the ramp.

All too quickly, and yet not quickly enough, Carson's coffin is taken from their hands and placed on a transport for the overnight storage. Ronon, Lorne, Radek and Lt. Mahan hang back, waiting just to the side of the stargate while Rodney and John join General Landry.

"Dr. McKay, the arrangements for your travel to Scotland have been taken care of, my secretary will have the pertinent documents for you." Turning to John, Landry continues. "Colonel Sheppard, The Odyssey is making a weeklong stopover for repairs and maintenance, we will be using their ZPM to send the rest of you back to Atlantis."

Before John can so much as open his mouth to speak, Rodney begins.

"General, Colonel Sheppard will be accompanying me tomorrow to deliver Doctor Beckett's body to his family." John looks over at Rodney quickly--this is news to him as well.

"Doctor Beckett was a member of the civilian team, there's no reason for Colonel Sheppard to go with you."

"You could not be more wrong. Carson was a member of the original expedition, he was part of our team, and Colonel Sheppard is not only the ranking military officer on Atlantis, but he was Carson's friend as well. For God knows what reason, Carson asked that I be put in charge of these arrangements, and that's my request. And furthermore, Colonel Sheppard and I will not be staying at the SGC tonight." Rodney can see John flinch at the sharpness in his voice, the clipped tone.

"Gentlemen," Landry begins, holding up his hands and adopting that condescendingly superior tone that makes Rodney's already taut nerves tighten. It physically hurts to breathe.

"No, don't even start that sentence." At this point, Rodney's no longer in control of his voice, of his actions, he holds up a finger, his point ready to be made. "We are not staying on base, or in some SGC-owned, sub par, most likely watched hotel so that you can keep us under your thumb. We're not going to run, we're not going to call Katie Couric and promise her the scoop of her perky little lifetime, we aren't going to do anything that will in any way, shape or form reflect badly on you, but we are also not going to be anywhere near this place tonight. Tomorrow morning at oh-whatever-the-hell-time we're supposed to be up and at 'em, we will be, and we'll take our friend's body back to Scotland. Tonight I'm going to spend the money I might never get to use and I don't want to think about anything related to this place."

"And what about Colonel Sheppard?"

"I don't trust him by himself. He'll just get himself in trouble heroically saving a cat or something. He's coming with me."

"What's your say on the matter, Colonel?" Landry raises a bushy eyebrow in John's direction.

"Sir, like Dr. McKay said, Carson was a friend as well as a member of the expedition. He kept us all bandaged together when we were ready to fall apart. He deserves to have his friends take him home, his family deserves that. I'd be honored if you would grant Rodney's request and allow me to accompany him to Scotland." John answers, standing just a degree shy of at attention, giving Landry his respect without sounding like a grunt asking for orders.

"Well, Dr. McKay, it looks like you win," Landry says, conceding. "The flight leaves at oh-nine-hundred hours. I trust you'll be here."

"We will."

"Thank you, sir."

Landry turns towards the doors, John offering a salute and Rodney nods quickly in the General's direction. He knows he's lost points with Landry with his insistence and his words, but right now, he just doesn't care.

"Sir?"

They turn and see Lorne, Mahan, Radek and Ronon still waiting patiently.

"It looks like I'm heading to Scotland for a couple of days. The Odyssey is in town for repairs, so they'll be using their ZPM to send you guys back through the gate. You have command of Atlantis while I'm gone, Major."

"Yes sir," Lorne answers, saluting.

"I will take good care of your city while you're away. Good luck, Rodney," Radek says solemnly, shaking Rodney's hand. "You, too, Colonel."

"Keep him out of trouble, McKay." Ronon clasps Rodney's shoulder. "See you when you get back."

"Thank you." Rodney turns and looks at John, and with the barest nods he asks, "Ready to go?"

John nods and they head toward the infirmary for their mandatory check-up and then, with travel arrangements in-hand, they head towards the elevator.

Rodney feels the barest brush of John's fingers at the small of his back as they exit the elevator at the ground level of Cheyenne Mountain; it's the first time they've touched in weeks. They've been on Earth an hour now and barely four words have been exchanged.

It's up to twelve by the time John pulls into a hotel just outside of Colorado Springs. Rodney approaches the desk and asks for a suite with a king size bed, removing the single credit card that hasn't yet expired and sliding it across the counter to the clerk.

The girl at the front desk looks intently at her computer screen, shooting what Rodney's sure she thinks are sneaky and furtive glances between the two of them--John still in his uniform and Rodney looking probably not unlike a harried businessman and neither one of them with luggage. He gives her a look that dares her to make an assumption, much less a comment, and when she slides the keycards across the counter to him, he thanks her and looks over at John.

"Shall we?" He asks, raising the tally now to fourteen.

"You're the boss, McKay," John answers and follows Rodney to the elevators.

__________

"I know I've told you it's scary how much you can talk, but the silent thing is even scarier," John comments as they walk into the room. The bed, couch, television, kitchenette all looking so normal and alien at the same time.

"McKay." John's hand slides up his shoulder blade, curling over his shoulder. His voice grows quieter, rougher. "Rodney. Why am I here?"

Rodney's so tired he hurts, the events of the past few weeks foremost in his mind, weighing on his shoulders. The words die on the way to his throat.

"So I'll be sleeping on the couch, then, I guess." John's hand slips from his shoulder and Rodney can feel him moving. Before he can think, his hand's on John's arm, stopping him.

"John." Rodney grips John's forearm hard, his entire body is shaking.

"That's it, get mad. Hit something. Scream, yell, rant, whatever. You did it earlier, you can do it again. Do _something_. Hit me if you have to."

Rodney looks into John's eyes and he can see it all there--understanding, anger, that same god damn feeling of loss and futility, and, God help them both, something that might look like love. He imagines hitting John's chest, letting his anger out, the bruises that would bloom across John's skin, shaded and magnified by the hair on his chest and arms. He can taste the acid in his throat.

"No, God, _no_."

John's jaw is smooth, the faintest prickle of stubble catching at the pads of his fingers as he cups John's face, leaning forward to kiss him for the first time in what has felt like years, when in truth it's only been a few weeks--three and a half, to be exact. Something in John's muscles releases and Rodney can feel him relax into him. The kiss is short, tentative, and it should feel like coming home, but it tastes _wrong_ and they both know it won't be so easy to just literally kiss and make up.

Unable or unwilling to break the contact, however, they slide into an embrace, keeping one another close, and Rodney feels a flint of hope strike inside his heart that they're heading down the right direction.

"Talk. Please?" John asks, his voice muffled against the collar of Rodney's suit coat.

"I'm tired." The fabric of John's dress blues is rough under Rodney's forehead, pressing at uneven places over his brow.

"You should get some sleep." Rodney can feel John pulling away and he realizes his sentence has gone unfinished, that too much has already been lost in the unsaid between them.

"Stop." Lifting his head from John's shoulder, Rodney holds fast to John's biceps, keeping him close. "That's not. That wasn't. I'm tired right now, yes. But I'm more tired of losing people I care about, and if I had just gone fishing like he'd wanted--"

"Rodney."

"I'm tired of waking up and not having your hair up my nose and your knobby knees pressed into my calves. Or not waking up to the rustle of that damn poster over your bed."

"You're the one who put the brakes on everything and jumped into second gear with Katie Brown." There's a good amount of hurt and anger in John's voice.

"Well you're the one who insisted we start sneaking around like some dirty little secret. Sticking to the shadows on the way to one another's room. Gone long before morning. Excuse me for thinking we were in dress rehearsals for the big kiss off." Rodney pushes at John's arms, breaking their contact. The anger he's been holding onto, hording, waiting for the right opportunity, bubbles to the surface.

"So, what? You thought you'd take the new model out for a spin before you junked the old one? Is that it?" John's stepping into his space, the muscles in his neck, his jaw, are taut. It's almost a relief to see, to find themselves on somewhat familiar grounds.

"There was no spinning." Rodney crosses his arms tight against his chest, enunciating the last word crisply. "There was lunch and awkward conversation. That's it. No spinning. And I have no intention of-- I don't want to junk the old model. I like it, it was working great until-- Can we please move on to a different metaphor, I really don't want to refer to you as a car."

John eases his stance and shrugs just a little too casually, Rodney wants to shake him until he actually starts to _talk_ about what's going on in that brain of his.

"Fine, listen to me, John Sheppard." He pokes John in the center of his chest. "I regret not going fishing with Carson, because if we had, he would probably still be alive. But I didn't, I made an excuse and I had an awkward, but not wholly unpleasant lunch with Katie Brown, who is a sweet woman who says she likes me and wants to be around me. But despite all of that, and even though you started acting like you couldn't get away fast enough after you had your fun--I want you. I only want _you_."

"Good." John's smile is genuine, the relief almost making it to his eyes.

Rodney lets his hand--palm open--rest against John's chest. He pushes. "Good? I pour out my soul to you and all I get is 'good'?"

"Yes, good." John's hand covers his. "I really suck at sharing."

Rodney rolls his eyes at John's words, at the quicksilver shift of their conversation. He's surprised to feel John inhale a deep breath and then speak.

"The first thing I thought, when Carson-- The first thing I thought was thank God it wasn't you." John's voice drops to just above a whisper when he continues. "The thought of losing you kills me."

He knows it's mostly psychological, but John feels somehow smaller than before when Rodney wraps his arms around him, one hand cradling the back of John's head, the other holding tight to his shoulder. For a full minute John doesn't respond, he stands motionless in Rodney's embrace until he finally sets himself in motion, sliding his arms around Rodney's waist.

In the next room, Rodney can hear the sound of a television being turned on, voices can be heard in the hallway outside. In their room, the only sounds are the rustle of fabric as John's hands slide over Rodney's back, clutching at his shoulders, and the stuttered in-and-out of their breath.

Pulling back, just at arm's length, John takes another deep breath, not looking at Rodney for a moment or two. He chews on his bottom lip, dead panic crossing his face, slackening his jaw until resolve, suicidal bravery, the kind of tight-jawed, thin-lipped, cross every finger and toe action that Rodney's seen him perform when the world was threatening to crash on top of them, settles into his features and he looks up, looks directly into Rodney's eyes.

Rodney has never seen him look so utterly terrified.

"We lost Atlantis. Then we almost lost you. _I_ almost lost you. I thought it would be easier, it would hurt less, if it was just about the," John makes a gesture that could indicate sex, or could be some sort of strange tribal dance like the one they saw on PX3-439. "But it wasn't, it didn't, it isn't. I can't lose you. I need you."

"I'm right here."

John closes the minute distance between them in one step, reaching out, crushing the lapels of Rodney's suit jacket in his hands. The kiss isn't gentle, nor is it shy, the words have left them both open and vulnerable and neither man is willing to allow the opportunity for the defenses to build up even the slightest. John's hands push at Rodney's suit coat, slipping it off his shoulders and down over his arms, moving next to pull the blue shirt from Rodney's suit pants, and then unbuckling his belt.

When Rodney moves to return the favor, starting to unbutton John's uniform, John bats his hands away and sinks to his knees in front of Rodney. In an instant, Rodney's mouth goes bone dry, and a shock of arousal goes straight to his groin as he realizes what John's about to do. Rodney would be the first to admit that the image of John, in dress blues, on his knees in front of Rodney has been the source of many a fantasy, but after he takes a breath--a deep, stuttering, humid breath--he's pulling John back up to his feet. This isn't about penance, or Air Force Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard giving himself over to Rodney, he doesn't _want_ John to do that, not now, not tonight.

"No, no. Up. I need you out of-- Need to _touch_ you. Without any of this," Rodney stutters in between kisses, skimming his hands over John's uniform to further his point. "Just you. Not that that wouldn't have been hot, and, not that, you know, you can't _later_. Some other time."

John's smile is nothing short of wicked, and Rodney can read that his "some other time" translates to "soon" in John's world.

The buttons are cool under Rodney's fingers, he fumbles a couple of times as he slowly unbuttons John's dress blues, but he doesn't want to have to break their kiss to look down and see what he's doing. John seems to have the same idea as his hands slide up Rodney's chest and he loosens Rodney's tie, pulling it off with a slide that sends a chill down Rodney's spine.

They make quick but careful work of their clothes, hands skimming along the dips and ridges of one another's spines as they help slide off their shirts, a hand on the shoulder as they kick off their shoes and step out of their pants, draping them over the chair to wear again in the morning.

Clad only in his boxers and a pair of socks, John sinks to his knees and peels off Rodney's boxers, his hands traveling up Rodney's thighs to his hips. He leans forward, taking the head of Rodney's erection into his mouth while one hand holds him at the root, stroking at the speed and pressure he knows Rodney likes. And Rodney does. When John's other hand brushes over the scar on Rodney's chest, just below his ribs. A scar John gave to him from the bullet shot in his delirium-fueled shooting spree. It stops John cold, and Rodney starts to lower himself to John's eye level, to fight to continue what they've started again tonight, but a hand on his stomach stops him.

The wound has healed nicely, the skin where the bullet pierced, just below his ribs, has faded into a light puckered scar. John brushes his fingers over the wound, staring intently at his hands, at Rodney's face, watching his reaction.

The touch of John's lips against the scar shouldn't feel so tender, so erotic, or so right but it does. Rodney scrubs his fingers through John's hair, tugging perhaps a little harder than necessary to pull him back up to his feet and into another kiss.

"What say we take advantage of the bed," Rodney asks, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of John's boxers.

"What say we."

Rodney sits on the edge of the bed, stripping off his socks, watching while John does the same. They maneuver their way up the length of the bed until Rodney's flat on his back at the head of the bed with John straddling his waist.

"I was an idiot. A _Goddamn_ idiot." The hair on John's thighs tickles the skin at Rodney's sides and the way John's looking at him--the intensity, the _longing_ in his stare, Rodney's not used to having anyone's full focus aimed right at him--prompts him into action. He runs his hands up John's thighs, feeling the muscles twitch and flex under his palms, sliding his thumbs along the crease of groin and thigh upward along John's hipbones. "Rodney."

John's voice is strained and Rodney can tell he's trying to hold back.

"You're right. You were." Rodney digs his fingers into the muscles of John's ass. "So was I. We fixed it. Now shut _up_ and get down here."

John's smile breaks across his face, his restraint crumbling with it, and he holds Rodney's face in his hands, leaning down and kissing him like a condemned man given a last chance at freedom.

Opening his legs, Rodney shifts his hips, his erection brushing against John's ass. John's hips jerk forward in response and he follows Rodney's lead, settling into the vee of Rodney's legs. This has always been good between them, since the beginning. Whatever discord they found between them in the outside world, here, they could find their harmony again. John's hands trail a well-known path from Rodney's jaw to his chest, along his side and down over his hip. Rodney spreads his legs wider, letting John lift Rodney's thigh to pull it against his own hip.

"I didn't plan this--us--tonight." Rodney presses his thigh against John's side, sparks of arousal crackling behind his eyes as their erections slide together. "I just needed you."

"This isn't just about the sex," John pants against Rodney's mouth, thrusting against Rodney's hip.

"I got that." Rodney reaches down, palming John's ass, urging him on. "Right nowohyesgodyoufeel good."

"You too." John's breath is hot against Rodney's temple and is followed by the wet swipe of his tongue, licking away a trail of sweat.

Rodney feels the change in John's thrusts as they become quicker, with an edge of frantic, and he knows John is close. Gripping onto sweat-slicked shoulders, Rodney cants his hips, meeting John's rhythm in counterpoint.

"I-- Oh, God. I--" The sentence remains unfinished, lost in a rush of breath as John clutches at Rodney's shoulders, kissing him as he comes.

Rodney stills, sliding his hand down John's back as he recovers his breath.

"Your turn, Rodney," John says as he lifts his head, looking down at Rodney. He reaches down between them, the flat of his palm sliding over the head of Rodney's cock.

"John." Rodney's hips buck and John smiles, wrapping his fingers around Rodney's erection and stroking.

John lowers his head until his lips are against Rodney's ear. "C'mon, McKay."

With one final twist, John's thumb stroking in the spot that makes the fireworks go off in Rodney's brain, Rodney thrusts into his hand and comes, his eyes squeezed shut and John's name on his lips.

When Rodney opens his eyes, John's looking at him, the longing from before has been replaced by a contentment that softens the corners of John's eyes. He looks happily doped, and when Rodney smiles back, he imagines he looks the same.

__________

In the huge bed, they've sought refuge in the middle, bodies pressed close as though space were limited. Rodney's half-draped over John, his face tucked into the crook of John's neck, and John's arm is wrapped around Rodney's shoulder. The room is silent, save for the sound of their breathing. Neither man is asleep.

"It kills me too," Rodney confesses, saying the words against the pulse point of John's neck. He taps his finger over John's sternum, a steady rhythm that matches the heartbeat he can feel under his lips and hand. "The thought of losing you."

John tightens his embrace.

"It's not exactly a fun time to watch you blink out off of the radar. Or wait on another ship while you try to fly a shuttle through a planet's atmosphere and crash onto land. I watched you get fed on, John."

"I'm sorry."

Rodney props himself on his elbow and looks down at John's face. "I know. I'm not looking for an apology, I just-- The thought of losing you scares the hell out of me, too. And I know you, I know the man you are. You're going to keep going out there and almost getting yourself killed to keep us alive and safe. I haven't given up on you, so don't give up on me."

John's hand touches Rodney's cheek, sliding warm around the back of his neck and pulling him down into a kiss. It isn't words--John expended those earlier--but Rodney can read the reply in the pull of John's mouth, focused and thorough, in the press of John's fingers as they move from caressing Rodney's neck to cradling the back of his head. The kisses slow, growing more lazy, and gradually stop.

"Thank you."

__________

Rodney wakes up sometime before the sun has fully risen, the sky outside is just starting to lighten into blue-gray dimness of early morning. He makes an attempt to look at the clock, cracking one eye open, but he's too tired to focus and the clock is on the other side of the bed. John's side of the bed. And John's right there, asleep, his face only inches away, and Rodney doesn't have the energy or desire to shift his focus. He lifts his head slightly, leaning forward and brushing a soft kiss over the corner of John's mouth, because he can, because John's _here_ and Rodney _can_.

"'s nice," John murmurs, eyes still closed and a sleepy smile pulling at the freshly kissed corner of his mouth.

"Yes." Rodney's thumb strokes lightly over the side of John's neck, slowing until they are both asleep again.

__________

The phone rings at 6 a.m., a courtesy wake-up call from the front desk, and it takes them several minutes after John's hung up the phone to untangle their limbs.

They take advantage of the asylum the room provides to kiss in the shower, in front of the sink as they shave, as they dress--in between pulling on their pants and white t-shirts, before they put on their shirts.

"What am I going to tell his mother? 'Sorry, I just wasn't in the mood to go fishing, so Carson ended up working on his day off and wouldn't you know that would be the day the Pegasus galaxy pulled another sick joke out of its ass.' Sorry about that." After the third attempt, the knot of his tie looks at least presentable. He has a momentary perverse desire to rip it off and throw it out the window.

John pushes his hands away, preventing any further fussing, and smoothes his hand over the tie, tugging just a little to the left. His fingers brush along the edges of Rodney's lapel and then travel downward until his palm is resting over Rodney's heart. "It wasn't your fault, you have to know that. Carson would tell you the same thing."

John's thumb is stroking softly--left, right, and back again--over Rodney's chest and it's that feeling that Rodney hones in on, closing his eyes and just concentrating on that feeling, shutting out the thoughts--the counterargument that feels wedged in his ribcage making each breath hurt. With each circuit, his chest hurts a little less.

Rodney opens his eyes and looks, John's hair is its usual mess and his uniform is spotless and wrinkle-free, and he's wearing a concerned look that's aimed directly at Rodney, and Rodney suddenly is struck with a bone deep sense of relief that John is here with him, touching him, that they have found their way back to one another. A part of him knows he should feel guilty for this relief, but he can't replace the happiness, this need to hold on tight to this chance that's been given to them. If he knows one thing, if there is one absolute truth, it's that life is too damn short not to grab hold of those he loves and keep holding on as tight as possible. He can picture Carson rolling his eyes at him, can almost hear him say that anything that makes Rodney happy--and less of a pain for everyone else--is a good thing. And Rodney knows, deep down, that Carson would smile--probably even tear up, the sentimental fool--to see the two of them like this again.

"I couldn't do this alone," he whispers, leaning into John's touch.

"I'm right here."

"You are, aren't you?" Rodney smiles, holding nothing back.

John returns the smile, his armor non-existent, and Rodney touches the back of his neck, bringing their foreheads together. John's hand reaches up, stroking the side of Rodney's face, from brow to temple and jaw. "Yeah, I am."

"Good." Rodney steals one final kiss before lifting his head and straightening his back, finally ready to face his duty and the outside world. "Let's go take Carson home."


End file.
